Crossing Swords
by Jaylynn Byrd
Summary: The festival of swords has a new prize this year, the hand of the princess. The fiercest competition is between Alex, the Prince, Llewellyn, A Mage, and a simple lad of unknown origion. With lives entwined, this short story covers a brief blip of time.


Crossing Swords --

(-a note: I wrote this for my creative writing class, and when I origionally wrote it, I switched back and forth from first to third person. For my class and in this version, it's entirely in third now, but I may change it all to first because some parts were a bit more powerful to me in first. so yeah, enjoy, and I'd love any honest and helpful critiques.)

"You'll be on your own tomorrow night. I need to sleep well before the festival tournament." The lad before him, dressed like an assassin, merely shrugged his thin shoulders, and brought the dull sword point up again. His dark orbs blazed through the only slit in his costume as he thrust and parried Alex's blows. It had been a month since their majesties issued the proclamation that whoever won the tournament would win Princess Aurelia's hand. Afterwards she made few appearances in public, clearly protesting a forced marriage to a stranger, but her parents were steadfast. She would be wed the night of the tournament, or there would be blood. Block, strike, sweeping arch, crescent moon… his hands went through the motions as his partner attacked him. The lad, a son of a prosperous merchant no doubt, had sent a messenger to find him when he arrived in town.

"The master wants further swordsmanship training. He'll pay one golden eagle per night."

"Night?"

Night it had been. The lad was alert, and from what Alex could think to gather, he was probably just as active and busy in the day. How he never came across as tired was beyond me. Alex's schedule shifted. He was training him and honing himself. His skills were rustic, but he was quick and surprising in his intensity. Every night they dropped swords at the coming of dawn. He reached into his belt pocket and produced the eagle, placed it in Alex's hand, and left with an air of restraint. He never spoke.

"Good morning, or shall I say, good night." Alex could feel his eyes narrowing as he moved through the street without replying. With twistingly charming words, the mage had half the town in the palm of his hand. His open, golden hair was mimicked by his good as gold air. They loved Llewellyn's sickeningly sweet words, how he helped them with small tasks. They didn't notice the throbbing lips of their daughters as they hurried, flushed, from dark corners. Alex scowled, moving through the inn's back door to the room he'd been staying in for the last month. He collapsed onto his bed and lay staring at the ceiling as daylight peeked through the curtains. The lad had given him a sound workout, and tomorrow was the day he would win the festival, and the hand of the princess. They would not be in love, but it would be a prudent match. Wealth, connections, a uniting of two royal countries. He needed a wife who would care for his people, and rule by his side. He ran a hand through his dark hair, sighing as he reached over and closed the blinds. A fight would be on his hands tomorrow… and failure was not an option. Whatever it took, he would do.

The masses milled about, as seemingly every single man of eligible age throughout the country and some from abroad stood on the edge of the packed dirt arena. Five judges stood with their arsenal of bells as they went through their careful lists, pointing each man to his opponent. Five opposing teams of men were called into the arena center, and a single bell pealed to start the first heat. Alex watched Llewellyn closely as he had his opponent disarmed within moments. The crowd was cheering wildly, and Alex couldn't help but wonder if he was the only one to have glimpsed two Llewellyns… perhaps he was not alone, if the confused look of Llewellyn's opponent was any indication. The bells of the judges rang, and Alex took his place in the arena, his armor gleaming in the early morning light. He calmed himself to face the grinning buffoon before him, and lunged as the bell pealed in seeming slow motion. The man parried, and Alex immediately thrust in again, his sword snaking around to whip the opponent's sword from his hand. The man sighed in defeat, and Alex lowered his sword, moving out of the arena center again, to wait. Several heats later, he noticed what seemed to be a brave, if foolhardy soul taking the arena. He was smaller than most of the other competitors, but moved with agility in his thin leather armor sown with light metal rings. He soon disarmed his opponent and slashed his back with the flat of the sword, and as the lad turned, Alex stared deeply into the darkest green orbs he had ever seen. Alex bowed slightly, angered that this was what his teaching had come to. He had been training his opposition, and training them well. They bowed mockingly back as they took a spot on the edge of the crowd.

The three moved on every round, superior swordsmanship serving them well. Every time, Llewellyn showed his coy self, and Alex couldn't help but see a hazy double. It seemed he wasn't the only one absolutely determined to win… by any means. There were but two rounds left, and now four of them. The others had been slowly forced back into the stands as they were defeated, some few of them going to the healers when their opponent had been less careful about not hurting them. Alex faced a bear of a man who was grinning hugely at him, the soot on his face confirming his suspicion that he was a blacksmith, with arms of steel. They faced off, and out of the corner of his eye he saw his lad mockingly salute Llewellyn, who jeered back. The bell rang, and the four of them sprang into action. The sweat poured down Alex's back, his opponent's blocks being both block and attack, such was their force. He thrust back with all his might, and grabbed a chance opening, his sword sliding to a point at his neck. He dropped his sword, yielding with a disappointed look towards the observing king and queen, who sat sedately beneath an elegant shade. Alex's attention turned to Llewellyn and the lad, who were still dueling. He saw his lad lunge at what seemed to be Llewellyn, and then turn in mid jump, sword slashing to come with a flat thud against the head of Llewellyn, who seemed to appear from the hazy nowhere, his sword raised to slash the lad from behind. Alex could have told him the lad had developed a sixth sense for where people were when they were working in the dark, but would he have listened? The mage didn't deserve the hint anyways, the cheating scum. Llewellyn looked shocked, dismantled from his charming self by that graceful blow to the head.

He moved to the side, and Alex took his place facing his lad. The bell rang, and Alex lunged forward, but he was not there. He had jumped to Alex's side, and he felt the flat of the sword on his back, shoving him into the ground with his own lunging force. He had been defeated in a moment by the lad he had trained. He had lost… everything. His pride, his dignity. He had trained the peasant boy who would steal the bride of his kingdom. He had already turned to the stand, and Alex heard him speak for the first time.

"The prize is mine…"

"I think not! I will not lose to a peasant boy worth nothing!" snarled Llewellyn as he lunged forward, his sword pointing at the boy's neck. It was then Alex realized he had gotten up, his own sword at the lad's back. Perhaps it was desperation. Llewellyn and Alex glared daggers at each other, the lad perfectly still between them. The crowd was gasping and screaming, but Llewellyn and Alex had one purpose for that moment. Get rid of the boy. Once he was gone, they would duel: His seemingly light charisma against Alex's darker one. It was for Alex's country. Llewellyn lusted for power that would never be his. It was for… love. Alex wouldn't let his chance with her slip away.

"Imbeciles! I shall marry neither of you!" At her voice Alex faltered as it rang from beneath the leather helmet and Llewellyn took a step back in surprise. She darted forward, out of the sword reach of both of them as she pulled the helmet from her head, golden curls tumbling forth as a bead of sweat ran down her cheek, and she glared at both of them. It felt as if a dagger had been placed in Alex's stomach as he looked at the girl he had been about to stab… for the sake of marrying her. Her emerald eyes burned holes in the two of them as she glared, taking steps back towards the podium and her shocked parents. Pandemonium reigned supreme as we were swallowed by an angry and astonished crowd. Alex would never forget the pain he saw in her eyes as she looked at him. Perhaps that is why he went back that night, back to their corral. She turned to look at him from the center, hair bound back as her green eyes blazed… She had won the right to choose her husband, and her parents had conceded. She now raised her sword to Alex, and he pulled his out. They stood facing each other, and he saluted her. She never said a word as they played the game of intricately dancing swords, and he knew he would stay for as long as it took.


End file.
